Care In The Continuity
by Troll Boy and GoS
Summary: After being being saved from the fires of Oroduin by a conveniently placed plot contrivance Gollum finds himself being treated in 21st century NHS hospital. Can he regain mental stability, find a job AND save Middle-Earth from The Plot Hole of Despair.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer- Middle-Earth and its inhabitants belong entirely to Professor Tolkien who's work I'm mangling here. I hope he's not spinning in his grave too much. Also apologies to the genius Terry Pratchett whose style I've woefully tried to emulate here.                 

Gollum danced wildly as he held aloft the one ring of power, or more specifically the severed Hobbit finger on which the one ring of power was now residing. The Precious was finally his once more. He could now do all the things of which he had dreamed for so long, such as...such as...well he could work the specifics out later, although he had a feeling that raw trout would be involved somewhere along the line. As he teetered giddily on the precipice overlooking the fiery pit of Mount Doom the one ring slipped out of his hand. He instinctively dived after it. This was on balance probably not the most sensible move he had ever made.

There are many things that can cause a person to reevaluate their perspective on life. Plummeting head first into a lake of red-hot magma is one of them, albeit a usually terminal one. As he plunged downwards Gollum realised that spending the majority of his existence fixating on a small piece of jewellery hadn't been the most productive use of his time, and resolved that if reincarnated he'd endeavour to acquire a wider range of interests.

In the other nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand alternate realities in which the ring was destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom, the story of Gollum ended with a rather pathetic wisp of black smoke rising from the depths of Oroduin. In this particular instance however something positively miraculous happened.

It is a well-documented fact that in areas of high dramatic tension, such as Mount Doom at the moment of the Dark Lord Sauron's demise, the fabric of reality (usually a polycotton vinyl mix) can become rather distorted, allowing a variety of narrative fluctuations to occur, the most dangerous of these being the plot hole, a tear in the fabric of reality that can lead, if not quickly mended, to the creation of a vacuum in the narrative. It was one of these most dreaded of phenomena that opened up beneath the corrupted Hobbit formerly known as Smeagol. Sucked into the maelstrom of the plot hole Gollum was buffeted around by a host of discontinuity eddies', before being hit over the head by a rather hard non-sequitur and thrown into conveniently placed plot contrivance. The reverberations from this spread throughout Middle-Earth causing a host of arbitrarily selected characters to be swept up into the vacuum.

Gollum woke up on a hard floor in a mercifully badly lit room. He wasn't quite sure what had happened to him. Only that he had lost The Precious and didn't have a clue where he was.

"Nasty Hobbitssess, we hatess them." he hissed feeling utterly sorry for himself. In all fairness Gollums current predicament was in no way the fault of the two Hobbits he had only recently attempted to murder. However it is a well known fact that 99% of sentient creature when faced with an undesirable situation of their own creation take the bold path known as 'blaming someone else'. This is probably because those foolhardy souls who choose to 'own up' to their misdoing's and take responsibility for their actions tend to get weeded out of the gene pool pretty damned quickly. 

He proceeded to make the bold decision to curl up in a corner shut his eyes and hope that everything would sort itself out.

After thirty minutes he got cramp in both his legs and decided that his current plan of action wasn't working. He got up and took a proper look at his surrounding. The room was filled with a variety of strange contraptions the likes of which he had never seen before. Along one side of the room was a row of grimy blue doors, each covered in a kind of writing that Gollum assumed must be a rare form of mystic rune. It was the first, and indeed last, time that Gollum had been in a ladies public convenience.

As he was staring in wonderment at the electric hand drying machine two middle-aged women entered, talking rather loudly.

"So what happened then?" said one of the women

"Well of course our Sharon didn't know what to do..."

They both spotted the deformed looking man in the loincloth staring rapturously at one of the sinks and screamed.

Unfortunately Gollum had already spotted the gold wedding band on the finger of one of the women and was lunging towards her at great speed.

"My preciousss," he screamed in delight.

A short time later Gollum found himself bound hand and foot in the back of a horseless carriage accompanied by two rather tall threatening looking men in strange uniforms. It was the first, but by no means last time Gollum would find himself in the back of a police car. 


	2. A Comedy of Errors or an Error of Comedy...

Disclaimer - Middle-Earth and all of its inhabitants belong to Professor Tolkien, I am merely borrowing them for a short while. Also note that the LDF is a blatant rip-off of the babelfish, a brilliant concept devised by the late great Douglas Adams.

A/N - Well it's taken me slightly more time to update than I though it would (unfortunately it is but a small update). This is mainly because, for some bizarre reason of which even I'm uncertain about, I've also started work on a Star Trek Mary-Sue story and a Ringu/Good Omens crossover. Hopefully though the next installment should be written soon. Thanks muchly to the people on the people who were kind enough to review the first chapter, the responses to which can be found at the bottom of the page. All constructive criticism, suggestions, flames and gratuitous praise are welcomed.

Gollum was feeling sorry for himself. There was nothing particularly surprising about this, self pity was after all Gollum's default emotional state. He was however wallowing in it even more than usual. After being pried away from his new Precious by the two large unpleasant men he had been taken to an ugly looking building and locked in a small, harshly lit cell. They had even taken away his favourite loin cloth, and forced him to wear an unflattering paper overall. The walls of the cell, which he was currently crouching in the corner of, were covered in the same obscure runic script as the ladies lavatory, much of it was accompanied by a selection of anatomically implausible yet oddly humourous illustration.  

After what seemed like an age, the iron door of the cell was opened by yet another uniformed man who was even bigger than the two who had brought him. He strode into the room and put a large hand on Gollums shoulder.  "All right then, come on?" he said in a gruff voice. Gollum cringed and decided that, on balance, it would probably be a good idea to cooperate. As he was led out of the cell and down a long beige corridor Gollum noticed that most of the humans appeared to be wearing the same distinctive black and white uniform and there didn't appear to be any Orc's wandering around. It was a truly strange and unusual place. He certainly hadn't been to this part of Mordor before. 

After what seemed to an age of wondering down a never-ending series of hallways Gollum was finally brought to a small rather bare looking room and ushered into an orange plastic chair. The room appeared to be completely lacking all of the Dark Lords favoured instruments of torture. There was not a rack, thumbscrew, or red hot poker in site. Gollum began to wonder what terrors could be planned for him, and decided in advance to immediately blame whatever it was he had done on someone else. It was a policy that had served him well throughout his life thus far. The two uniformed men who had accosted him earlier entered. 

"Right lets get started shall we," said one of them, a worn looking middle aged man with graying hair. The other a younger, taller, dark skinned man removed a contraption from a cupboard at the far end of the room and set it down on the table. Gollum looked on in terror as he proceeded to connect the thing to the wall with a long black stretch of wire. He had never seen a tape recorder before, and automatically presumed that it must do something rather nasty and painful to sensitive areas of the body. This assumption would in fact be broadly accurate if the device was being used say to play _The Spice Girls Greatest Hits_, fortunately however such an action would probably be classified as police brutality. He visibly winced as the younger man pressed the one of the buttons on the machine. Gollum was surprised and relieved to find that he wasn't actually experiencing any excruciating pain.

The older man cleared his throat. "Interview commencing at 20.45 hours. Officers present Sergeant Peters and Constable Ahmed. Now Mr. Gollum, not that that's your real name of course, it wasn't in any of the records, suppose that you tell us how exactly you came to be in the ladies toilets at Little Haston Bus Station at four o clock this afternoon."

"Filthy little thieves fault we was here. Yess took it from us didn't they," muttered Gollum. 

One may wonder at this point how Gollum, whose native tongue was Westron could possibly communicate with the English speaking police officers. The answer is simple, yet at the same time highly convoluted. The plot contrivances that occur in areas where the narrative fabric between two universes has been breached are surrounded by strong Lexical Distortion Fields (LDF's). These fields create irreparable changes in the language centres of the brain of any being hapless enough to fall into the grip such a phenomena, allowing them to adopt the language that predominates the narrative universe they are flung into, be it English, Klingon, Net-Speak, or if you're really unlucky Fangirl Japanese. Many philosophers claim that the very existence of something as contrived as the LDF indicates the existence of a set of all-powerful, cruel and capricious beings who enjoy playing strange and often sadistic games with the unsuspecting inhabitants of the universes that they control. They're generally known as 'Authors'.

"Who took what from you?" said the older man, now identified as Sergeant Peters.

"They stole our preciouss from uss."

"Your 'precious'. What you mean someone ran off with your girlfriend?" said Sergeant Peters whose mind boggled at the thought of any woman being desperate enough to form a relationship with the 'person' sitting before him. "That still doesn't quite explain what you were doing in the ladies loo now does it?"

"My preciousss, the ring. The nassty cruel Hobbitsess took it from uss." hissed Gollum

"And who are these 'Hobbitses' when they're at home then? Were they the ones that told you to mug Mrs. Carpenter?"

"Baggins," said Gollum with venom.

"What?" said Sergeant Peters who was feeling rather irritated. It had been a hard day and dealing with Gollum, who was clearly not grounded in the same reality as everyone else, was the last thing he wanted to be doing. "Now look here, Mr. Gollum, or whoever you are, a woman's accusing you of indecent assault and attempted robbery. This goes to court and you'll be facing a long prison sentence. So I suggest you start talking to us pronto."

"Wait a minute Sarge, isn't the Bag Inn on Lewis Street the place where Steve Harris's lot are hanging around these days," said Constable Ahmed. "Hopkins was saying the other day that they'd been getting a bunch homeless nutters to do a few burglary's on some of the estates, haven't been able to get enough evidence to prosecute though."

"Was it the Harris boys who got you do it then, is that it?" said Sergeant Peters suddenly enthusiastic. He had been trying to get local crook Stephen Harris for something ever since he'd vandalised Peters car fourteen years ago. Sergeant Peters was a man who like to hold a grudge. "Look if you tell us, then the judge might be a bit more lenient in sentencing. In fact, if you're really cooperative then you might just get some community service."

Gollum was confused. He was being asked a host of strange questions by two humans in odd clothing who didn't particularly look like Barad Dur's usual minions of evil, and they hadn't even threatened him with any spikes yet. It was all in all perhaps not the best time for his slightly less corrupt alter ego, Smeagol, to assume temporary control of the body.

"Master was kind to me. He spared poor Smeagol's life," Smeagol whined in the most servile tone he could muster,"

"No, nassty Hobbit tied us up. Threatened to kill uss. Horrible creaturess," said Gollum momentarily regaining control of the body.

"But Master tried to help Smeagol he protected me from his friend," Interjected Smeagol

"He destroyed our preciousss" snapped Gollum.

Sergeant Peters sighed, the suspect clearly had more than one screw loose. From Gollums rambling all that he had been able to discern was that Gollum had had something he referred to only as The Precious taken from him, and was blaming this theft on a group of shadowy underworld figures known as 'The Hobbits'. He had also formed the vague impression that members of this Hobbits gang had forced the 'man' sitting in front of him to participate in some kind depraved rope bondage game. The horrific mental images generated by this particular misunderstanding were something that would haunt Peters nightmares for weeks to come.

"Look are you sure that you wouldn't like legal representation Mr. Gollum?" said Peters.

"We hates them we do, the tricksy little liars," rambled on Gollum, too caught up in his self indulgent denouncement of Hobbit kind to listen anything that Sergeant Peters was saying. 

"Fair enough," said Sergeant Peters who was suddenly feeling slightly less hostile toward the wretched thing sitting across the table from him. They obviously held similar opinions about lawyers, and the lack of honesty and morals thereof. "How about you give us some details about 'The Hobbits' and me and Constable Ahmed here will put a good word in for you."

Gollum, who was for now in control of the body, tuned in once more to what Sergeant Peters was actually saying, sensed a chance to divert attention away from him and his misdeeds and onto those who he felt had wronged him. "What do you want to know about them?" he asked with surprising and, it has to be said, malicious clarity.

After another hour of questioning, Gollum had been led back to his cell to await a visit from a social worker named Doreen, and Sergeant Peters and Constable Ahmed knew that they were on the trail of two hairy midgets called Frodo and Sam, who were leading members of a gang of international jewellery smugglers known only as the Fellowship. They had also been repeatedly been assure by Mr. Gollum that he had been given a ring for his birthday and hadn't killed a person named Deagol for it, not that he had ever known anyone by the name of Deagol of course, if fact he categorically denied ever having heard the name before. The two policemen had however not taken much notice of these latter denials. After all the man was obviously mad, and had been mostly rambling incoherently by that stage.

"Nobody round here seems to have heard of that Fellowship Sarge," said Constable Ahmed as they sat in the Haston Police Station canteen.

"Well it's obvious when you think about it," said Sergeant Peters "Mr. Gollum, or whatever his real name is was talking about two brothers called Frodo and Sam Hobbits. Now Hobbits sounds like an East European name to me, so we can assume that the Harris Boys have got involved over their heads with this Fellowship from Russia or somewhere who are trying to muscle in over here. That Gollum bloke was probably just some poor git that they kidnapped on the continent and used to get that ring he was talking about. Anyway what did CID say when you told them?"

"Well they seemed dead pleased about it, they're getting onto The Met and Interpol about them. First time an international criminal organisation has been uncovered around here. Well unless you count the time that Gloria Brents's son came back from Australia and vandalised The Happy Star Take Away. Beats me though, why they's want to set up a base in Haston. It isn't really the best place deal in stolen diamonds is it."

"That's the thing though. Nobody would suspect any self respecting profession criminal to set themselves up around here, so it's inconspicuous isn't it," said Peters with the self assuredness of one who has spent over twenty years in the job and believes themselves to have seen it all.

"Inspector Burke said that he's going to let us work with CID on the case," said Ahmed with enthusiasm. This was understandable given that he had spent the first year and a half of his career alternating between traffic duty and giving the anti-drugs talk at Haston Village High School.

**********

One may wonder at this point what is happening in Middle-Earth following the horror that was The Plot Hole of Mount Doom. 

Following the destruction of The One Ring of Power and collapse of Barad-Dur there had been much rejoicing amongst those gathered outside the black gates of Mordor. This rejoicing had however been short lived once it was discovered that certain people seemed to be...well missing. Frodo and Samwise, who had been waiting for death on the slopes of Oroduin, had suddenly vanished, and there was no sign of Gandalf who, born by Gwalir had gone in search of them. Now these disappearances could be explained away as the sad demise of those who had perished in order to save Middle-Earth from eternal darkness. Rather less easy to explain away was the sudden way in which Faramir and Eowyn vanished in full view of several witnesses from the gardens of Gondors Houses of Healing, nor the way in which Lord Elrond, on rising from his evening meal, had simply ceased to be there.

There was also the matter of those who had seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. A dozen beautiful Elf Princesses had suddenly materialised in Lothlorien. None knew which race of elves they belonged to, for neither Noldor, Vanyar, or Moriquendi had ever been known to have pink hair or eyes which changed from silver to violet to amber depending on ones mood. Several young Shield Maidens had also mysteriously appeared in Rohan. They were peculiar girls, rather inappropriately dressed, and sweet smelling for ones whose primary duty involves mucking out stables, serving bear and maintaining the vegetable plot.

It was all in all a strange and disturbing time for the inhabitants of Arda.              

TBC

Response to reviewers:

Annoying Took - Thanks. I've always wondered why there aren't many Gollum-falls-to-real-earth stories around, there's such potential for humour. 

Eykar - Glad you liked it. Unfortunately Gollum didn't get to meet the sadistic mental health professional this chapter, but he certainly will in the next. Poor corrupt ex-Hobbit, he really doesn't deserve it.


	3. Of Mental Institutions and Moral Bankrup...

Disclaimer - See previous chapters.

A/N - Well Gollum finally gets to meet some morally bankrupt psychiatrists, and poor Lord Elrond finds himself in a rather strange and disturbing place. As always, all reviews, suggestion, concrit, gratuitous praise and flames (especially the creative ones) are very much welcome. Responses to reviews can be found at the bottom of the page. Also please note that dopaserotax and ChemiPharm are completely fictional and any resemblance to any real drug/drug company is completely coincidental.

Gollum, having been returned to his cell at Haston Police Station, was in a state of great fear and agitation. His captors had informed him that he was probably going to be sectioned under something called the Mental Health Act. Of what this terrifying contraption was he had no idea. His only hope was that it would be a quick, relatively painless death, and wouldn't involve him being hung and drawn beforehand. As he cowered miserably in one of the corners of the stark room, he mumbled to himself about the cruelty of the world, his personality in a constant state of flux, flitting between that of Gollum the One Ring crazed lunatic, and the somewhat less psychotic Smeagol.

"It's all your fault," whined Smeagol, addressing the other half of his ego directly. "If Smeagol had done as master said, Smeagol wouldn't be here in this horrible place waiting for horrible things to happen."

"It wasn't uss who's to blame. If we'd got rid of the nasty Hobbitses quickly like we first planned we would have had out preciouss back with uss," hissed Gollum angrily. "Now it'ss lost forever and we won't see it ever again will wess."

"The precious tricked me," said Smeagol with uncharacteristic boldness. "I'm glad that it's gone."

"The preciousss was our life," shrieked Gollum, the development of whose very existence had been contingent Smeagol gaining possession of the One Ring. Filled with rage he cast his eyes around the cell, looking for an object to injure Smeagol with, until he realised the inherent stupidity of mortally wounding yourself just for the sake of spiting your other personality. Besides, the only weapon available to him at present was a plastic spoon that had come with the inedible bowl of soup that had been given to him half an hour ago, and it would take a very violent, patient and persistent individual indeed to inflict any sort of damage with it.

There was a thud outside the cell, and the sound of a key being turned in the lock. Gollum began to quake in fear. Once more the enormous human guard loomed in the doorway.

"Come on then," the surly policeman said with obvious contempt. "Looks like you've been lucky this time. That bloody bleeding hearted social worker is here to see you."

Shaking, Gollum got to his feet and was escorted back into the unpleasantly lit corridor. As he quaked towards what he believed to be his doom he was dimly aware of the guard muttering something about how in his day criminals got treated like criminals without the tea and sympathy brigade sticking their oar in. Gollum had no idea who the tea and sympathy brigade were, or where it was exactly that they stuck their oar, and frankly he hoped that he wasn't about to find out.

"When I was a lad we all knew right from wrong," droned on the guard "there was none of this wishy washy..." they door halted outside a non-descript wooden door. "Well looks like this is where you get off. There was a day when you'd have been locked up in a proper jail, but as the powers that be have decided that you're 'too mentally disturbed' to stand trial, it looks like you're just going to get a nice spell in the looney bin." 

The guard opened the door and ushered Gollum inside. The tiny room had been painted a rancid yellow colour, and contained three blue plastic chairs and an MDF table. In one of them sat a petite middle-aged woman who would have looked quite attractive if it weren't for the fact that she was wearing a sludge green skirt suite teamed with a garish pink floral blouse. Next to her sat an older gentleman, who wore a brown tweed suite and had tufts of wiry white hair protruding in patches from his scalp. The net effect of having so many hideously clashing colours and textures in so confined a space was such that Gollum could already feel the inevitable migraine coming on.

"Take a seat," said the woman in a pleasant voice, gesturing to the only free chair left. Gollum opted instead to crouch on the table.  "Well Mr. Gollum...that the name you're currently using isn't it?"

"My name is Smeagol," said a frightened Smeagol, who for the moment at least seemed to have the upper hand when it came to taking control of the body.

"Gollum," went Gollum.

"So your first name's Smeagol and second name's Gollum then?" queried the woman.

"Yes," said Smeagol, for whom this was truer that anyone else present could possibly know. "Smeagol is Smeagol's first name."

"Good, good," said the woman "Well I'm Doreen Harris, from Haston social services, and this here Dr. Wilks-Parker from department of psychiatry at Dampshire Infirmary. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions, so we can find out how best to help you."

"Help me?" said Smeagol confusion momentarily taking over from fear "but you're here to cut me up into pieces."

"What!" said Doreen looking shocked. "Who told you we were going to do that?"

Dr. Wilks-Parker said nothing, but scribbled 'paranoid delusions' in the space labelled 'symptoms' on the form he was filling in. The list already contained 'inappropriate behaviour' and 'persecution complex'.

"The men who asked me questions said that I was going to be sectioned by you," said Smeagol.

"When they said sectioned they meant was... look nobody is going to try and kill you," said Doreen emphatically.

"They're not?" said Smeagol sounding genuinely surprised. It was probably the first time in the last thirty years that someone hadn't been actively trying, or at least planning, to do away with him.

"Anyway," said Doreen changing the subject. "We were wondering if you could tell something about where you lived before you kidnapped by the people who were holding you prisoner."

A thoughtful look crossed Smeagol's face as he began to hark back to his past. Had this been a third rate soap opera, the television screen would have gone misty to denote a flashback sequence and the requisite cheesy music started to play. As it wasn't however, the others present had to content themselves with just looking at Gollums face contort as he began to reminisce "I lived with my grandmother until she made me leave. Then I followed the river, up into the mountains where the sun couldn't burn me, and I found a nice cool dark tunnel to stay in."

"Err right...right. And why did your grandmother make you leave."

"She said that Smeagol had been sneaking around and taking things, even though I didn't, and she told me to go away and never come back."

"Were you taking any kind of medication at this time?" asked Dr. Wilks-Parker, speaking for the first time. His voice possessed the even, rather refined, tone of one who did his medical degree at Oxford University and wants everyone to damned well know it.

"Grandmother sometimes gave me some of her medicine when she thought there was something wrong with me," said Smeagol.

"I see," said the Doctor, "and do you know what this medicine was."

"Grandmother make it herself, she didn't have a name for it." said Smeagol.

"What did you take it for?"

"To make me better," said Smeagol, wondering why anyone would ask such an absurdly stupid question.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and wrote_ Munchausens Syndrome by Proxy_ in the section on the form marked 'Family Background of Mental Illness'. 

"Were you living rough after you grandmother threw you out?" asked Doreen sounding sympathetic.

"I lived in the tunnel under the mountain until the Hobbit came," said Smeagol, who was feeling agitated.

"What happened when they came?" asked Doreen.

Gollum, who had been lurking in the background of Smeagol's consciousness for a while now, decided to take advantage of Smeagol's obvious discomfort and seize control of the body.

"They came and took out preciouss from uss they did. We hatess them the little thievess. We wantss to kill them," shrieked Gollum in a half-hiss half-yell. He then proceeded to, in quick succession, jump off the table, throw it against the wall, smash the window, screamed loudly in protest at the intrusive rays of sunlight that were now entering the room and then finally huddle in the corner going 'gollum'.

Dr. Wilks-Parker remained calmly impassive throughout the whole display, and it was with some satisfaction that he wrote down 'psychotic episodes' and 'irrational phobia' on the symptoms list. He only needed to get 'clinical depression' and 'obsessive compulsive tendencies' to get a full house on this weeks bingo card. 

"Well I think we've seen enough," said the Doctor in hushed tones. "We'll have to have him committed to Wildrose Park." Wildrose Park was the nearest secure psychiatric unit whose pleasant sounding name belied the fact that it was in actuality seven acres of tarmac and concrete with not an inch of vegetation in site (well apart from some of the patients and several members of the medical staff anyway). 

"I have to agree," said Doreen. "Another outburst like that and someone might get seriously hurt."

"Should we get on with the paperwork then?" said the Doctor. Who was rather anxious to get going. He had, after all, got an urgent drinks party to attend.

**********

If Gollum thought that he was having a bad time of it, it was nothing compared to the abject horror currently being experienced by Lord Elrond. One moment he had been quietly finishing a meal in Imladris, the next he had found himself in a place of terrible darkness and great iniquity. 

As he had scrambled about in the darkness looking for a way out of the vile pit in which he had found himself, he was acutely aware of the multitude of depraved and sordid scenes being played out before him. The dimly lit red and gold decoration that covered almost every surface only served to enhance the stench of corruption and degeneracy that permeated every inch of space. The denizens of the place all appeared to be peculiarly dressed humans, who for the most part stared uncomfortably at the Elf Lord in their midst, and been utterly unresponsive to his questions. They had clearly never seen a member of the elder race before. Elrond wondered if he had somehow transversed time and space and been cast into the bowels of Angband. 

Edging his way forwards past an expanse of cushioned seating he headed towards what appeared to be a door. Had he been able to read English he would have been aware that the strange green and white talisman that adorned the gateway read _Emergency Fire Exit Only_. Elrond flung his weight against the thing, which opened with surprising ease. Sighing with relief, he found himself in the open air. 

He was really very glad to have escaped from the adult movie theatre.

Glancing around, he became aware of his surroundings. He was clearly in a city, the likes of which he had never seen before. Strange machines trawled along the roads, and most of the buildings appeared to be illuminated by harsh brightly coloured lighting. The streets were filled with the same peculiarly dress people as those inside the foul place he had just exited. Drawing himself up to his full height, Elrond resumed the dignified bearing that was the hallmark of a true Elf Lord and pondered what to do. He had clearly been transported into the dark lands of either Khand or Rhun, where the very stars were different, and, it was said, such practices as he had just witnessed were a commonplace occurrence. It was clear to him that he must somehow find his way back to familiar ground, but he was unsure of how exactly to go about this. One thing however was certain, he couldn't afford to stand around in the same place for long, the agents of the Dark Lord were probably lurking around here somewhere.

Boldly the Lord of Rivendell set out into the Soho evening, pointedly ignoring the stares and occasional taunts of  "hey look at that pointy eared freak in the dress" he was receiving from the populace.

*********

The creature now assigned the name of Mr. Smeagol Gollum awoke to find himself lying in a blissfully darkened room in a bed covered with starched linen of the institutional-white variety. For a moment he wondered if the last few hundred years had all been a dream and he had really just been asleep in his grandmothers home. Until, that was, he noticed the multitude of people gathered expectantly around him. Some of them were even holding clipboards.

It was then that he remembered what had happened during the last twelve hours. He had been taken from the cell in the police station, manhandled into the back of a car and transported to a huge concrete structure, whereupon he had been prodded, poked, asked a host of blindingly stupid questions, and forced to complete a series of incredibly pointless tasks (why they needed to know whether he could recall a list of ten words after a twenty minute time lapse was wholly beyond him). All the while he had been alternating between the personalities of Gollum and Smeagol, as was want to happen when he was feeling put upon and mistreated. This had for some reason made all of the people in the white coats very excited. Eventually somebody had stuck a rather large needle in his arm and he had started to feel rather light headed and sleepy.

"This here is the patient Dr. James Wilks-Parker brought in earlier," said a severe looking man who stood to the right of Smeagol Gollums bed. "A cursory examination of whom has indicated the manifestation of two separate identities."

"So you're saying that he's got a split personality then?" said a gaunt youngish man who was standing next to him.

"Dissassociative identity," corrected the dour first speaker.

A dark haired woman stood at the foot of the bed cleared her throat. "But Dr. Hargreaves in all alleged cases of this disorder, the existence of which might I add is still highly contested, there hasn't been a single instance of the dissassociative identities in question actually interacting with each other, let alone actively trying to kill each other."

"Exactly Dr. Banbury," said Dr. Hargreaves, "what we are seeing here is a completely as of yet unrecorded phenomenon." 

A murmur past through those assembled as they each began plan how they were going to be the first one to write it up for the Lancet. 

"How are we going to go about treating the patient then," queried a very tall young woman who was standing somewhere near the back of the room. She was a fourth year medical student and hence was in the eyes of most of those present far to enthusiastic.

"That is a very good question Ms. Miller. I was hoping that after some more research into the patients condition and further testing..."

"Electro shock therapy," shouted a wizened looking gentleman. "That'll do the trick every time. That's what we used to do in the fifties. Yes a few quick bouts of ECT should just be the ticket for this chap."

"Professor Bywater, you do realise that such procedures have been banned in this hospital for over twenty years due to ethical concerns," said Dr. Hargreaves.

"Pah. We didn't have all these 'ethics' and 'patients rights' to worry about in the old days. How about a lobotomy then, can't fault a good lobotomy, haven't done one for ages," said the Professor.

"We could try an eight month course of dopaserotax," suggested Dr. Banbury. "It is very expensive of course, but it's performed very well in all of its clinical trials."

"But Dr. Banbury isn't dopaserotax supposed to be used for the treatment of post-natal depression in women over the age of thirty-five?" asked the gaunt man, whose name was Dr. Craig. From what he tell post-natal depression was probably just about the only psychological disorder that Smeagol Gollum couldn't be accused of having.

"Ah, but we won't know whether or not the drug can also treat the patient condition unless we try it first will we," said Dr. Banbury commending her reasoning.

"That reminds me Yvonne," said Dr. Hargreaves addressing Dr. Banbury by her first name in a show of unprecedented familiarity.  "How are those shares in ChemiPharm doing these days? I hear they've just bought the dopaserotax patent haven't they?"

There were a few snickers from the back of the room, and Dr. Banbury turned a very interesting shade of scarlet.

"Wait a minute," said a rather dishevelled middle-aged man with unkempt ginger hair. "Surely... surely the patient cannot be said to be mentally ill."

"Explain Dr. Gregg's," said Dr. Hargreaves.

"Modern society is by its very nature insane. Therefore all of those who appear to be sane by the standards of such a society must be, by default, insane themselves. Whereas those who, like this man here, are defined as 'mentally ill' are really only displaying a sane reaction to a world gone mad."

"Alright, I thought I told you to stop reading Laing didn't I? After what happened last time hmm?" said Dr. Hargreaves sounding irritated. "Honestly anyone would think you didn't want to be a psychiatrist."

"Yes Dr. Hargreaves," said Gregg's looking thoroughly abashed.

"Trephining," shouted Professor Bywater who didn't seem to been paying attention to what anybody else had been saying. "Now there was a good idea that went out of fashion."

"Dr. Hargreaves," said Dr. Craig. "It seems to me..." he cleared his throat, "it seem to me that as we don't know what exactly the patients problem is, or for that matter have any idea whatsoever as to the cause of it is, that the first thing we should do is..."

"Do go on Dr. Craig," said Dr. Hargreaves.

"We could just... well just give everything a try and see if any of it works."

There was general assent from all those present. Here was the kind of thinking that had made psychiatry the profession it was today.

After a few more points were discussed by the intrepid group of mental health professionals, they began to disband, finally leaving Smeagol Gollum once in peace. Currently it was Smeagol who was enjoying the status of dominant personality. He hadn't been quite able to follow what the humans had been saying about him, but he didn't think he was in any immediate danger. He wondered idly where he actually was. He hadn't seen a single Orc since his arrival, so it couldn't Mordor (although the building was probably ugly enough to belong there). Maybe it was Harad, he had heard whispers that mysterious men with strange customs dwelled there, and the humans he had met thus far had been nothing if not strange. He had definitely expected it to be rather warmer than this though.

After an indeterminate amount of time had past Smeagol's reverie was interrupted by the entrance of two women wearing strange clocks on their clothes. One of them gave him what appeared to be two bits of green chalk and a glass of water to swallow, which he did with surprising compliance. 

After a long protracted debate with the King of the Butterfly People about the nature of existence Smeagol settled down to a night of brightly coloured hallucinogenic dreams. He remained completely oblivious to the hushed and somewhat panicked conversation going on between the two nurses in the corridor outside the room regarding the fact that they seemed to have mixed up Mr. Gollum's medication with Mr. Graham's, and whether or not they should keep it quiet.

TBC

A/N - The next chapter will probably feature a very slight Good Omens crossover, and we'll finally find out what has become of the other poor displaced characters. I still need to decide on which hideously inappropriate places Gandalf, Eowyn and Faramir are going to end up in, but I've got a good idea for Frodo and Sam. Gollum will also get to meet some of his fellow patients at Wildrose House, the world most incompetent psychiatric facility. 

Response to reviewers

Anonymous - Thanks for the compliment on my writing style. I'm glad you like the story, hopefully this chapter didn't loose too much of the momentum humour-wise (Gollum and his split personality is actually turning out to be a lot trickier to write than I first imagined)


	4. Of Realisations and Reality Television

Disclaimer - Middle-Earth and all who inhabit her are the property of the Tolkien estate and New Line. The locale of Lower Tadfield, which is mentioned briefly in this chapter belongs to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. I should probably also point out that the depiction of mental-health professionals, and certain symptoms of mental-illness in this story is intended to be satirical rather than wholly realistic.

A/N - Well I wasn't able to pack as much into this chapter as I would have liked, but I seem to be rather bogged down with work at the moment, so I'm only really able to write at sporadic intervals. Much thanks goes out to all of the people who have reviewed so far, especially Eykar for giving me such good ideas for this and future chapters. Responses to reviews can, as always, be found at the bottom of the page. Any and all feedback is welcomed, whether it be gratuitous praised, concrit, or outraged flaming.

Elrond walked alone through the streets of London. His paces were measured and even, a testament to the dignity that a few thousand years of Noldorin ancestry bestowed. The sun was rising in the east, brilliantly lighting up the glass palaces that towered imposingly over this part of the city. He would never have imagined that the Easterlings were capable of such architectural feets as those he had seen during the last fourteen hours. The Lord of Rivendell had been heartened greatly by the fact that the authorities in this area of Middle-Earth had not yet attempted to apprehend him. Perhaps this was a sign that the Ring Bearer had been successful in his mission to rid the world of the One Ring, and the forces of darkness had finally been vanquished. Had he still been residing in Middle-Earth Elrond would have doubtless been instinctively aware that this was the case. As it was however, all that he was aware of was the irritating headache he kept getting every time he tried to use, what you might call, his extra sensory abilities.

During the night he had been assailed by a group of youths bearing knives, who had demanded that he transfer ownership of Vilya to them with immediate effect. Two minutes later all five of them had started running away, very fast, in an effort to be somewhere, anywhere, that Elrond wasn't. Having gained nothing from the encounter except for soiled undergarments and four weeks worth of night-terrors. He had then encountered a group of Rangers of the North, far from home, under a rusty ill-maintained bridge, in one of the more unkept parts of the city. At least he could only assume that they were Rangers. They slept out of doors, and wore several layers of grime over their weatherbeaten clothes, both of which were definite hallmarks of Rangerness. Unfortunately they had seemed to be even more disorientated by the sudden changes in the world than Elrond himself, and had provided him with little useful information with regards to the best way to obtain safe passage out of Rhun. Although they had managed to furnish him with directions to the nearest soup kitchen, which was something at least.

As he took a sip of weak tea from the polystyrene cup he had acquired earlier, Elrond turned a corner into what appeared to be a market square. Local merchants were in the process of setting up their stalls for the day. Stacks of odd looking trinkets were being unloaded from a multitude of horseless carriages, and arranged in as aesthetically pleasing a manner as the plywood stalls would allow.

One or two of the merchant's assistants noticed Elrond standing around and critically surveying their handiwork.

"Ere is 'ee one of them Hare Krishna's Dazza," said a gormless looking young man pointing at Elrond.

"I Dunno Gaz. I thought that Krishna's always wore them bright orange robes, and he's wearing purple," said his marginally less gormless compatriot.

"Maybe he's wearing purple 'cos he's like the head Krishna monk or summat," said Gaz in an uncharacteristic show of deductive, if erroneous, reasoning.

So Hare Krishna was the name they gave to Elves in this part of the world. Though Elrond was at a loss as to why the humans here thought that the elder race made a habit of wearing bright orange robes. Given that most Elven folk had rather pale complexions, orange was a colour that they tended to avoid for fear of looking a bit on the jaundiced side. Maybe, thought Elrond , the young men had previously encountered the last remnants of the Avari, whose sensibilities were probably not as refined as those of the Quendi when it came to selecting appropriate and complementary clothing.

Deciding that the two young men could present no possible threat to him, Elrond decided to see if they could direct him to the path leading out of the city. Although, given their general demeanour, it was doubtful that they would be able to navigate a dinner table, let alone a city the size of this.

"Do either of you know of a way out of this city?" he asked them in commanding tones.

They both stared at him morosely for a few seconds before answering. "Well you could get the tube, the stations over there" said the one called Dazza waving his arm in an easterly direction. "Where do you want to go anyway?"

"Into the west," said Elrond.

"Yeah, you wanna take the tube mate, it's over there like 'ee said," said Gaz.

Elrond turned in the direction that the two had pointed. It could of course be a trap, but he really didn't feel like wandering aimlessly around this accursed, yet strangely beguiling, city for any longer than he had to.

Fifty miles away from the spot where the Lord of Rivendell had just been conversing with Dazza and Gaz, Smeagol Gollum was waking from his chemically induced enchanted sleep. Even with the heavy Venetian blinds drawn at the window the bright morning sunshine was still managing to infiltrate the room. In response to this Gollum quickly seized control of the body, and began to vent his displeasure in the loudest way possible.

"It burnsss," he shrieked raising a fist skywards. "The cruel sun mockss uss and burnss uss preciouss."

It was not long before Dr. Hargreaves and the two women with the strange pocket watches rushed into the room.

"You did give him his medication last night, didn't you?" demanded Dr. Hargreaves as he removed a wrapper containing a large syringe from his pocket.

The two nurses merely nodded sheepishly in response. They had been in a heightened state of anxiety ever since they'd discovered Mr. Graham trying to leap a fourth story window an hour earlier. If he had managed to proceed with this suicidal attempt to fly, the great medication mixup would have been sure to be uncovered. As it was, Mr. Graham had merely been left with an indelible conviction that he was a small humming bird named Tico, who lived somewhere in the Amazon Rainforest. It was nothing that could be traced back to the enormous dose of powerful (and experimental) anti-psychotics he had been inappropriately administered the previous night.

"Looks like he's got photo-phobia," said Dr. Hargreaves.

"What's that Doctor?" asked the less rattled of the two nurses.

"Fear of sunlight," replied the Doctor, who proceeded to jab the syringe in Gollum's arm. The response that this elicited from the former Hobbit was a loud, high-pitched, wail, which caused permanent injury to the eardrums of everyone unlucky enough to be within a one hundred-metre radius. Within minutes however, the sedative began to get to work, and Smeagol Gollum was overcome by drowsiness. The nurses took advantage of his temporary docility, and quickly dressed him in a yellow T-shirt emblazoned with a charming Barney the Dinosaur motif, a pair of oversized jeans, and a pair of size 12 patent leather shoes. He was then placed in a wheelchair and pushed into a beige coloured lounge where about ten other, equally doped up, people were sitting, staring blankly forwards. For at the centre of the room stood the most wondrous contraption Smeagol or Gollum had ever laid eyes upon. It mesmerised. It transfixed. It made you forget that mundane boring reality existed. It was television, and Smeagol Gollum was hooked.

The Wildrose Park Secure Mental Hospital believed that it was the duty of the staff to prepare the patients for the reality of life outside institutional care. It was for this reason that all of the patients were required to watch at least thirty hours of daytime television per week. In the case of Mr. Smeagol Gollum this particular brand of rehabilitation was going to payoff in the most unlikely of ways.

At precisely the same time that Smeagol Gollum was being placed in front of the soul destroying yet siren like abomination that is breakfast television a troupe of psychedelic camper vans were travelling, or at least dawdling towards a small dot on the Cambridgeshire map named Lower Tadfield, where the annual Tadfield Folk Rock Jamboree was about to be held. It was an exiting time for the New Age clan who called themselves The Mystic Children of the Age of Aquarius (other people tended to call them 'that bunch of sad middle-aged hippies in the bottom field'). They had just welcomed the most extraordinary newcomer into their amiable, if a little odd smelling, fold.

It had happened less than two days ago. The group had been attending a Solstice festival near a small Village called Sheep Crossing, and the evenings' entertainment was slowly winding down, with people going, often in three and foursomes, to their respective teepee's. Blue Hawk, Merlin and Moonstone Flower Child (formerly known as Chester Poncenby-Hamiliton,  Tarquin Bridges and The Hon. Lydia Pemberly respectively) had been sitting around a small camp fire sharing one or four of their special home-grown 'herbal' cigarettes, when they looked to the sky and noticed something that even they, in their current state of altered consciousness, found a bit odd. There appeared to be three giant birds circling the camp. The largest of then appeared to be carrying a man on it's back. Normally the three would have put the sight down to 'travelling to another plane of alternate existence', or to put it in laymen's terms 'doing a tad too much LSD', however it really was quite unusual for three people to travel to the exact same plane of alternate existence simultaneously. It had been then that they had met their new friend Olorin.

The bird bearing the man, landed gracefully, in a nearby grassy clearing, and its burden dismounted with ease. This was particularly impressive given the apparent age of the said burden.

"Err. Greetings fellow traveller," said Blue Hawk, who couldn't really think of anything more pertinent to say.

"Greetings," replied the robed, bearded, elderly looking gentlemen. He clearly did not seem to find anything strange about the fact that he had just arrived on the back of an oversized eagle. "I am Gandalf the White."

"Really, we've already got five Gandalf's here already," supplied Merlin, who himself was if fact the first of four Merlin's.

"In that case, call me Mithrandir," said the newcomer.

"There are two Mithrandir's as well," said Merlin.

"Olorin then. Surely there are no other Olorin's present," said the man impatiently. He did after all only have a limited supply of alternative names, and didn't really want to have to adopt Stormcrow as his standard moniker.

"No, you're the first Olorin we've ever had," said Merlin. "Welcome O' Olorin to our gathering, The Mystic Children of the Age of Aquarius."

Gandalf had almost instantly been adopted by the group. Or perhaps more accurately, the group had been adopted by Gandalf. He had the right look (his beard and robes alone were the envy of several of the men), the right pseudo-mystic way of speaking (although it was rather less pseudo than the other members assumed it to be), and he was, most importantly, willing to share his pipe-weed. He spoke often of a pressing need to find two mythical beings called Frodo and Samwise. Merlin, Blue Hawk and Moonstone Flower Child assumed he was talking about some kind of spiritual metaphor.

Unlike his fellow misplaced Middle-Earthian's Gandalf was a Maia, and as such, had been able to quickly discern that he had somehow been hurled into a parallel universe. The downside of this was that he had no idea about how he should deal with the situation. His telepathic abilities told him that Frodo and Sam were still alive, and were, like himself, trying to get their bearings in this strange world. Unfortunately for Gandalf however, the airwaves in this reality were crammed full of radio, television, and mobile phone signals, which made trying to pinpoint the two Hobbits almost impossible. He had been, when first opening his mind, and attempting to divine Frodo's state of mind, hit right in the precognition by an episode of Big Brother 5. It was an experience that he really didn't care to repeat. He was vaguely aware that the convoy of brightly painted horseless carriages were travelling in the right direction, and was quite happy, for now at least, to remain in the company of his new friends. He had initially asked Gwalir bear him further north. However after the Lord of the Eagles had been forced to evade a barrage of heat seeking missel's somewhere over the Atlantic, he had pretty much told Gandalf that he could damn well continue on foot. "There are many things that I'd do for you Mithrandir," the gigantic bird had said "but being hit in the backside by exploding bits of metal is not one of them."

Smeagol Gollum, had not moved from his position in front of the television for over eight hours. His medication had worn off, and the room was horribly bight, but he just couldn't seem to take his eyes away. It was better than raw fish, it was better than a cool damp cave, it was even, Gollum had grudgingly conceded, better than the precious. Smeagol was enthralled by the gardening and home make-over shows. Gollum had become enamoured with soap operas and reality TV. They both enjoyed a particular comedy-drama that featured a band of inept, and corrupt world leaders being generally inept and corrupt, with hilarious and devastating results, the show was apparently called The News.

The only thing currently spoiling Smeagol Gollum's viewing pleasure was presence of two other patients. To his right, was Josephine, who being an obsessive compulsive attention seeker was doing just about everything she could to distract him from his programs. To his left sat Bradley, a paranoid schizophrenic who persisted in changing the channels every fifteen minutes to avoid being detected by the forces of darkness that he believed tried to follow him everywhere.

"We wass watching that," snapped Gollum angrily as Bradley switched from Coronation Street to Who Wants To Be a Millionaire. Gollum had decided within the first hour of his television ogling career that he didn't like quiz shows. It irked him to see other people being given presents when he himself wasn't getting any.

"If I don't change the channels the Evil Goblin Men will find out where I am. They can trace you through the TV you know," said Bradley who was still shaking from his last dose of medication. "And then they'll come and claw my eyes out."

Gollum waved his hand dismissively. "All youss need to do to get rid of the nasty goblinss is hide in a nice dark cave. Then when they wanderss into your cave you pushess them under the water and eatss them. It'ss what we did, didn't we preciouss."

Bradley paused for though. This was an option that he hadn't considered until now. It would be a risky step of course, for who knew the true powers of the Evil Goblin Men. The fact was though, that Smeagol Gollum seemed to know an awful lot about goblins and the disposal thereof. He therefore decided that Gollum's plan was worth a shot, and headed without further ado in the general direction of the basement.

Gollum triumphantly picked up the remote control from the arm of what had been Bradley's chair and changed the channels. After five minutes of high soap-operatic drama involving three unexpected pregnancies, two murders, and one highly implausible case of mistaken identity,  Josephine began to poke Gollum in the arm.

"What iss it?" he hissed, irritated by the disruption.

Josephine merely giggled, and began to prod him even harder.

"If you doesn't stop that we'll bitess your fingerss off, won't we preciouss," snarled Gollum bearing his teeth, and contorting his face into a mask of evil. Josephine's response was to scream and run out of the room.

Gollum sat back in his musty armchair and smiled contentedly. He was alone at last. There was nothing between him and several more hours of mental atrophy. In a fit of uncharacteristic charitableness Gollum decided that, as soon as Eastenders was over, he would let Smeagol take control of body for a while.

Unlike Smeagol and Gollum, who were currently in a state of rapturous joy, Faramir and Eowyn were not feeling particularly good. Actually, 'not particularly good' was a bit of an understatement. Completely and utterly miserable, would perhaps be a more fitting description. This was mainly because they had been whisked away from gardens of the houses of healing by forces unknown, and dumped halfway up a mountain side in the Lake District. Not that they knew the name of the place of course, the map that a family of kindly Japanese tourists had provided them with the previous day did not contain an English to Westron translation, and they therefore possessed no clue whatsoever as to where they were. One may of course wonder here why there exists a Lexical Distortion Field, which enables one to adopt the native tongue of whatever universe one happens to find oneself dropped into, but not a Graphical Distortion Field that would enable the displaced denizen of one reality to read the writing in the one they end up in. The answer is of course perfectly straightforward, the LDF is a well documented, and well-researched narrative phenomenon, whereas the GDF would just be silly deux ex machina of the kind that only the most asinine of authors would ever think of using.

It was, Faramir thought, bloody typical. You finally meet a woman you're head over heals in love with, she professes to feel the same about you, and everything is great until you both suddenly find yourselves up a cliff and completely lost in an expanse of godforsaken countryside. It wasn't as if they were even dressed for it either, Faramir was wearing what were most definitely his 'city clothes' and Eowyn was clothed in one of his late mothers' gowns. Still at least the family of travellers they had met on the way down from the first hill had been kind enough to share some of their food supplies with them, even if the picture making devices in their possession, which had flashed with brief, yet unnaturally bright light, had been a bit disconcerting.

"Do you think that we should head down into the valley? There may be some shelter to be found there" said Eowyn shivering.

"No. It is almost nightfall and there may be Orc's abroad, and we are completely unarmed" replied a sodden and depressed looking Faramir. "It would be best to head further up the hill. The crags at the top should be enough to conceal us for tonight."

Eowyn nodded glumly in agreement, and they wearily struck out on what remained of the assent to the top of the mountain. They were both tired, irritated and confused. Things like Defending cities under siege while hopelessly outnumbered, slaying Witch Kings, and almost being torched alive by your own demented father can take a lot out of a person, and Faramir and Eowyn was no exception.

The two of them took almost an hour to climb to the mountains peak. It was the fifth mountain they had scaled during the last day and a half, had they been members of the Ramblers Association they would have probably been given a certificate for this feat of endurance.

What they saw once they had reached the summit, however both startled, scared and relived them. In the valley floor on the other side of the mountain were hundreds of soldiers and tents. Their armour seemed to be almost identical to that of the armies of Gondor. Had they managed to stumble across a detachment in the middle of... well wherever this was?

"Do you recognise them?" asked Eowyn hopefully.

"I cannot tell from this distance," replied Faramir with cautious optimism. "Though their armour and banners look as if they are those of Gondor."

"Could they be impostors?"

"It is possible I suppose, though I think we should take a closer look. If they are troops of Gondor then they will gladly welcome us."

"If we keep close to the rocks then we could descend without being seen."

"Well it's got to be better than standing around here all night," said Faramir eventually. As if on cue a clap of thunder sounded, and it began to rain for the fourth time that day.

In a tent cum luxury trailer at the base of the mountain, minor Hollywood director Joel Kendrick was carefully planning the next scene of his soon to be blockbuster _'Tales of Valour'_, which would, with any luck, turn him into a major Hollywood director. It was going to be a medieval epic with action, romance, overacting, and lots big budget special effects. The storyline didn't actually require there to be any big budget special effects, but Joel Centrex was the type of man who liked to put them in anyway. They had just finished filming the first shots of the army of the principal villain the Duke of Darkshire, massing in the valley. Tomorrow they were going to film the climatic fight scene between the Duke and the hero Sir. James Faithful.

"Mr. Kendrick, is it alright if I come in," came the voice of Mandi, his personal assistant from somewhere outside.

"Come on in," he called back.

Mandi entered the tent looking worried and rather sheepish. "Mr. Kendrick," she said "we have a problem. Christian Willis and Bridget Helmsley have both been taken to hospital with suspected botulism." The two actors played Sir. James Faithful and his token love interest Lady Catherine La Rouge respectively.

Joel Kenrick's reaction was pretty much what had been expected. He screamed, overturned a table, smashed a few glasses, shouted several obscenities, and ranted about the catering department and how much he was going to sue them for. Where the hell was he going to find two more, relatively inexpensive replacements.       

A/N - What cruel and unusual situations I put the poor blameless characters in. I think this chapter was probably a bit disjointed in places, but it's turning out to be really quite difficult to get so many POV's into one small story, hence the reason why Frodo and Sam haven't made an appearance yet. In the next chapter Gollum's television fixation will deepen, Gandalf and his new friends will pay a visit to Lower Tadfield, Elrond will finally escape from London, and Faramir and Eowyn will be thoroughly disgusted by the shoddy armaments and bad military tactics being used in the production of 'Tales of Valour'.

Responses to the reviewers:

Rabid Locus - I'm glad that you enjoyed it. If the incompetent staff at Wildrose Park carry on as they are, Gollum will probably be having a few more encounters with The King of the Butterfly People in the near future.

Eykar - Thank you once again for giving me such a good idea for what to do with Gandalf. The next chapter will hopefully see him interacting with his newfound 'friends' a little more, and being forced to use his magic at inopportune moments.  As for my rather haphazard punctuation/grammar, I'm currently going through the first three chapters trying to correct the errors, but it's going pretty slowly as I'm probably the worlds most incompetent proof-reader.

SaiyanQueenVega - Thanks. I'm trying to put a new spin on the Middle-Earth character in the real world cliché, so I'm really glad that you thought it was original. As for your question about me researching the fic, the answer is both yes and no. I'm a postgraduate psychology student so I draw mainly on my studies when it comes to describing symptoms and parodying the modern psychiatry/psychology.

Aisling Niamh - Thank you for your kind words. Though I'm sure that all of this praise will go to my head J . Hope that you enjoy this chapter.


	5. Hobbit Horror in Suburbia

Disclaimer - See previous chapters.

A/N - Unfortunately a combination of project deadlines and influenza has meant that I haven't been able to work on this story as much as I would have liked over the last few weeks, so this chapter is woefully short, and not the one I was planning to write. It's more of an interlude focussing on the fate so far of those poor innocent Hobbits Frodo and Sam. A big thank-you goes out to all of the reviewers for giving such kind feedback.

It had been two whole days since Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee had suddenly, and without warning, been transported from certain death on the slopes of Mount Doom to certain terror in commuter belt England. One moment they had been courageously facing their demise, the next they had been had found themselves in a most terrible place, a place wreaking of the dark machinations of evil, a place called 67 Suburban Drive. It was an unassuming semi-detached house in the midst of an estate filled with hundreds of other equally unassuming semi-detached houses. It was also home to teenaged old Lord of the Rings fanatic Claudia Johnson.

The day that the two brave Hobbits had found themselves transported to the new and strange land, had been, quite coincidentally, the same day as Claudia's fifteenth birthday. She and twenty of her closest schoolfriend's had been having a special birthday barbeque in the back garden, complete with presents, party games, and copious under-aged drinking. Her favourite present of the day had, by far, been the autographed photo of Elijah Wood, which her best friend Harriet had so generously bought for her on e-bay. The photograph featured Claudia's favourite actor as a mournful looking Frodo Baggins. It goes without saying that she had been instantly filled with unutterable delight the moment she noticed the two diminutive Hobbit impersonators who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Unable to contain their enthusiasm, eight of the girls had quite literally launched themselves at the poor unsuspecting Halflings.

"Look. It's Sam and Frodo," a tipsy Harriet had squealed, as she attempted hug Sam. Fortunately the poor Hobbit had managed to wriggle out of her grasp before he could sustain any serious crushing related injuries.

Claudia, had for her part been so entranced by the sight of her beloved Frodo, that she had been quite unable to speak, or move, or even think coherently, and had been more or less frozen to the spot.

Terrified by the dark beings that were besieging them from all sides Frodo and Samwise simultaneously decided that making a run for it was probably their best chance of survival, lest they be snuggled to death by these strange creatures.

On seeing their pint sized objects of desire running away from them the girls had assumed that a game of 'catch the Hobbit look-alike' had been arranged, and had immediately proceeded to pursue the duo out of the garden and into the streets. Frodo and Sam had run as fast as they could, given their already exhausted state, but the girls, being almost twice their size, were able to take longer strides, and had rapidly gained on them. It had been, in the end, the falling standards of physical fitness amongst the British youth that had saved them. After a one hundred metre burst of energy, fuelled by a potent combination of alcohol, estrogen, and adoration, all of the girls had collapsed with exhaustion, whilst the hardy Hobbits continued on at a modest gait.

After five hours of wondering through what seemed like an endless parade of gardens, lanes, and open countryside, Frodo and Sam had come to an area dominated by a series of very large, and very ugly, buildings. They had both agreed that it must surely be the dwelling of a great and evil power. This was in actuality fairly close to the truth, the owner of the place known locally as The East Surrey Industrial Estate was well known for being a bit of a vindictive, short-tempered bastard.

Realising that they needed somewhere to spend the night they had looked around for some time for a good hiding place, which they eventually found in the shape of a fully loaded articulated goods lorry, bound for a supermarket somewhere in Cambridgeshire. The two already traumatised Hobbits, unaware of the true nature of their hideout, were understandably quite surprised when the thing started to move.

"W..What's happening Sam, where are we going?" said Frodo who was still rather dazed and confused due to the amount of blood he had been leaking from the stump where his missing, presumed eaten, finger had once been.

"I don't know Master Frodo," said Sam. "But I reckon that some of this stuff might be edible." He gestured to the boxes of confectionary, ready meals and assorted produce that were piled high around them. "It seems to me like the best thing to do would be to stay here till this thing stops moving. Then we could try to sneak away without anyone noticing us." It wasn't a particularly inspiring and original plan, but it was the best that Sam could come up with at that moment

"You're right Sam," said Frodo weakly. "Do you think that the food would be safe to eat?"

"It smells right enough," said Sam sniffing the packet of angel cakes that he had just opened. "Maybe it's meant to be supplies for those Easterlings that Strider was telling us about. If it's for men then it can't be poisoned or else Sauron wouldn't have any them left to fight for him." Sam was rather pleased with this argument. He was hungry, and desperately searching for a reason why the stacks of food surrounding them would be safe to consume. Besides Frodo was looking even more pale and wan than ever, and needed some sustenance fast. Their flight from the creatures of darkness earlier in the day had really taken it out of them.

"I don't suppose it would hurt to eat a little," said Frodo, whose stomach was loudly beginning to make it's feelings on the matter clear.

The Hobbit's decided to eat a small amount, just enough to keep their strength up. A Hobbit's idea of what constitutes a small meal however isn't quite the same as that shared by most other species. After an hour of solid feasting they had between them consumed four boxes of cake, three loaves of bread, two packets of jelly babies and an uncooked pizza. This overindulgence in itself would have had no more dire a consequence than mild indigestion had it not been for the fact that the Hobbit's were rather unused to digesting the multitude of preservatives and additives that tend to be found in most modern food. The net effect of this on their already fragile systems was about the same as feeding an adult human four cans of Red Bull, followed by a grams or two of the amphetamine of their choice. Frodo and Sam weren't quite sure why they had started to suffer from acute heart palpitations, involuntary twitching and urge to regress to tweenage behaviour, but they were really rather glad when these symptoms began to subside. Fortunately this happened before the lorry driver, completely oblivious to the extra cargo he was carrying, decided to stop at a motorway service station on the outskirts of Cambridgeshire.

"It looks like we've stopped moving," said Sam excitedly.

"What's outside?" asked Frodo.

Sam peered out of the tear in the plastic at the base of the lorry's canvas covering, through which they had entered in the first place. "Well it's still dark, but the whole place seems to be full of well.. things like the ones we're in now," he said surveying the car park outside.

"It might be to dangerous to leave," said Frodo who didn't particularly want to move until his heart rate had reverted to something resembling normal.

"But what if this... whatever it is goes somewhere even worse next," said Sam, who was feeling slightly paranoid and anxious. "I think we should go now if you don't mind me saying so Mister Frodo."

"You're probably right Sam," said Frodo dragging himself up into a standing position. His stump was still bleeding, but the flow had been slowed down considerable by a makeshift bandage that Sam had found in one of the boxes.

Sam clambered under the tarpaulin and out of the vehicle. The drop to the ground was really quite daunting if you were just under four feet tall so Sam shut his eyes before letting himself fall clumsily to the floor. "I'm out now Mister Frodo," he said in a stage whisper. There didn't seem to be many people about in this strange place, but those that were didn't seem to be paying the disembarking stowaways any attention. "Why don't you throw some of that food down to me, we might need some of it for the journey." Sam wasn't quite sure what kind of journey they were going on, or where they were actually journeying to, but he was adamant that they weren't going to go hungry on it.

Frodo looked around at the boxes they had opened, grabbed several cartons of processed ham, a box containing a large chocolate gateaux, a few bread rolls, and threw them down to Sam, who put the ham and bread in his pack and picked up the gateaux. As an afterthought Frodo stuffed five packets of brightly coloured sweets into his pockets, and picked up a large green bottle, which, had he been able to decipher the strange runic code on the label, would have revealed it to be _Strongarm__ Cider: Extra Potent. _He then descended to the ground. This wasn't a particularly easy task given that was both trying to carry a litre bottle of cheap booze and attempting avoid using his damaged hand. He made it just in time, for as soon as his feat hit the concrete the driver, returning from his sojourn to the to the service stations below par bathroom facilities and overpriced café, spotted the two hitchhikers making off with the goods from his truck.

"You bloody little thieves," he bellowed, as the Hobbits began to make a run for the tree-line at the other side of the car park. He made a half-hearted attempt to give chase, but gave up after just a few paces when his vertebrae began to threaten mutiny and the third slipped disc this year. Deciding on a different approach he removed the mobile phone from his overall pocket and dialled the police.

"..Err hello," he said as the frighteningly calm voice on the end of the line greeted him. "It's my lorry. It's just been robbed by two... err...two midgets."

Frodo and Sam made it across the tarmac in good time. Some of the other denizens of the service station car park had stood and watched the scene play out in front of them with mild interest. Fortunately for the Hobbits general apathy on the part of the observers had ensured that none of them had actually tried to apprehend the Halflings.

"Sam," said Frodo once they were two fields and a hedgerow away. "Where are we actually going?"

"I don't know Frodo," he replied. "One minute we were on the top of Mount Doom and the next minute those creatures started to attack us. And now we seem to be in some field somewhere, and it almost looks like it's near The Shire. Well apart from all those metal things going along the roads without any horses pulling them."

"We could try going west and seeing if we can find somewhere familiar," suggested Frodo. "It doesn't look like we're in Mordor anymore, so maybe we're in Harad, or Khand, or maybe even Rhun."

"You mean we're going to have to go through Mordor again," said Sam, heart sinking at the prospect.

"Maybe. But at least now that the ring has been destroyed Sauron won't have any power left."

"I suppose so," said Sam. "And at least that Gollum creature won't be bothering us."

As the sun rose on their second day on modern earth, Frodo and Sam started to walk in a westerly direction. Feeling better now that they were out of imminent danger, they crossed odd smelling streams and strange looking farmland with lighter hearts and heavier knapsacks than they has possessed for some time.

A/N - Well, unfortunately no Gollum related madness this chapter. He'll definitely be appearing in the next, as will Faramir, Eowyn, Gandalf, and Elrond. Not sure yet whether or not I should include a chapter focussing on what's been happening in Middle-Earth since the emergence of the Plot Hole of Doom. I don't want to create so many diverging storylines that I won't draw everything together properly at the end.

Response to reviewers:

Aisling Niamh - Thanks. Yes poor Faramir and Eowyn, soon to be flung into the cheesy medieval romance action drama from hell. One just has to hope that they somehow manage to grasp the idea of choreographed battle scenes before they start laying into the extras with real weapons.

Eykar - Glad you liked the Gollum-other mental patients interaction. I could just see television warping Smeagol's already skewed and fragile mind even further (just wait till he discovers MTV and sees the jewellery being worn by the gangsta rappers). Gollum's new apprentice will certainly be making a re-appearance in future chapters, and the sadistic/incompetent psychiatrists we met in earlier chapters will be getting their well deserved comeuppance.

Rabid Locust - Thankyou. I agree, Gollum and his worrying TV addiction is very disturbing. I've been very cruel to poor Eowyn and Faramir. I know I really shouldn't do things like this to the poor characters, but I just can't seem to help it.

Pippin-Kun - Thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying the story. When I started writing this I wasn't sure whether the jokes were going to fall flat or not, so I'm v. happy that people seem to like the humour.


	6. Of Malpractice and More Preciouses

Disclaimer - See previous chapters

A/N - I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to update. Unfortunately my summer job hasn't been leaving me with enough time or energy to do much creative writing. This installment was originally intended to be part of a much longer chapter, but as I may not be able to get any more done before I go back to Uni in October I thought I might as well post it now. Special thanks to all of the people who reviewed the last chapter, feedback is very much appreciated.

Smeagol Gollum was not happy. He had been confined to bed following an incident during the previous night, in which his two personalities had come to vicious blows over the question of who should be evicted from the Big Brother house this week. There was not a television in sight, and the interesting side effects of the drugs he was being administered were becoming increasingly less interesting. After being given the pale pink pills with the ChemiPharm logo on, the King of the Butterfly People had visited him once again. Unfortunately instead of continuing to expound upon his thought-provoking observations about the nature of reality, this time the hallucinogenically created half-man half-insect had told toilet jokes. It really was a sad day when ones psychotic delusions began to suffer from bouts of acute immaturity. Still at least it wasn't all bad, Cathy Miller, the fourth year medical student who had been sent to Wildrose House by way of 'work experience' - or 'an experience of how not to work' as she tended to think of it - had solved his light sensitivity problem by giving him a pair of Power Ranger sunglasses that her nine year old nephew Jonathan has grown too embarrassed to wear. The garish red frames clashed nicely with the yellow Teletubbies sweater and blue and green striped trousers he had been provided with by way of 'day wear'.

As he lay there feeling generally sorry for himself, he became aware of the argument going on just outside his room between Dr. Hargreaves, who appeared to be the leader of the intrepid band of psychiatrists, Dr. Banbury, whom Gollum though could probably teach the dungeon keepers of Barad Dur a trick or two when it came to inspiring terror in their captives, and Dr. Craig, whom Smeagol personally believed to possess a level of intelligence comparable to that of the average Moria Orc. At Wildrose House patient confidentiality was something that happened to other institutions, so that staff were usually quite happy to publicly discuss the most private of matters in the corridor (providing of course it was not their own private matter).

"You mean to say that Bradley Carver barricaded himself in the basement, and you can't get him out" came the dour and rather careworn tones of Dr. Hargreaves.

"In a manner of speaking," mumbled Dr. Craig.

"What do you mean _'In a manner of speaking'._ He either has or he hasn't."

"Well he err... hasn't so much barricaded himself in the cellar as err... flooded it."

"He's done what?"exploded Dr. Hargreaves. "We're storing about five million pounds worth of drugs and equipment down there. How the hell are we going to explain this to the board of directors."

Dr. Craig merely mumbled something nearly unintelligible about the new medication not working properly by way of response.

"Oh so it's the bloody medications fault then. I thought I was told that Benzylchlorase was _'top of the range and completely effective' _wasn't I Dr. Banbury?"

"Well Benzylchlorase has performed very well in the clinical conducted by ChemiPharm," replied Dr. Banbury sniffily.

"Oh yes it has been very effective. As in very effective at treating seizures in pigs, as oppose to, you know being very effective at preventing delusion behaviour in paranoid schizophrenics. You obviously forget Yvonne that I have actually been known to read those drug trial reports of yours."

"I don't see any reason why we need to stand around here all day shouting at each other," said Dr. Banbury. "Anyone would think we weren't professionals. The best course of action would be to use this as an opportunity to deal pro-actively with certain issues that may, if left unchecked, lead to future problems for the hospital."

"And these issues would be what exactly," said Dr. Hargreaves, suddenly sounding a little less hostile.

"Well there is the Robert James case. His family are still trying to sue for gross malpractice, which is ridiculous really as ChemiPharm did thoroughly tested that particular combination of drugs on cockateels with no ill effects found. Well apart from vomiting, shaking..."

"Yes but what does this have to do with the basement being flooded?"

"The lawyers representing the family are trying to get hold of his medical records, which may give the untrained eye the impression that we were haphazardly prescribing a dangerous cocktail of psychotropic drugs just to see what would happen."

"And we weren't?" said Dr. Craig sounding puzzled.

"Of course not," snapped Dr. Banbury. "We were adopting an intuitive rather than systematic approach to finding the right combination of drugs to treat Mr. James condition. Anyway as I was saying, if the records were to be regrettably destroyed as a result of say a flood in the cellar in which they were being stored, then they would not be available for misinterpretation by those untutored in the methods of modern psychiatry."

"So what you're saying is that we should douse the medical records, put them in the basement, and then pretend that it was an accident?" said Dr. Hargreaves.

"Yes."

"Right good idea. You two can both go and find the appropriate cabinet and take it down to the basement. Oh and while you're at it try and get that Carver man out of there, he might damage something expensive."

"Dr. Hargreaves."

"Yes Dr. Craig, what is it now."

"If we destroy all of the medical records in the same cabinet won't we loose any, you know, important information about the other patients medical histories. Like what sort of medication they're supposed to be taking?"

"Dr. Craig, how exactly do you expect to hold down a career in mental health with that kind of attitude."

"Sorry Dr. Hargreaves."

"Right, off you go then."

After Dr. Banbury and Dr. Craig had set off on their mission Dr. Hargreaves sauntered into the room where Smeagol Gollum was currently sulking.

"Right have you calmed down now?" he asked in a bored sounding voice.

"Yes, yes I have kind master. Smeagol promises not to cause any more trouble," said Smeagol.

"Wess just wantss to watch our nice television programss again don't we precisouss," added Gollum, who was for once on his best behaviour.

"Well, I suppose you can go and watch television. Providing that is, you don't go and make another scene."

"Yes nice master, Smeagol swears he won't make another scene."

"Oh and for god's sake stop calling me master, it doesn't sound... you know... right."

Dr. Hargreaves then left to do whatever it was that Dr. Hargreaves did in his office (rumour had it that it had something to do with using the hospital budget to fund a compulsive Internet gambling habit), and Smeagol Gollum half walked half crawled out of his room. As he headed towards the room holding the sacred screen he paused.

"We sshould go and have a look at the cellar preciouss, if it'ss flooded there might be fishess down there." said Gollum.

"But I don't want to miss Hollyoaks," protested Smeagol.

"But that won't be on until after the Weakest Link will it preciouss. Wess can go and look for fishess and then we can eatss them in front of the television."

"Very well," relented Smeagol. "But you better be quick, Smeagol will be angry if he misses his favourite programs."

Smeagol Gollum then proceeded to head towards the stairs leading into the bowels of the hospital. An inability to read the direction on the wall did not in the least handicap either Smeagol or Gollum, who both possessed an uncanny ability to locate dark places underground that they had been expressly forbidden from entering.

Wandering down the steps Smeagol Gollum heard the sound of dark forces at work on the floor above. The nurses were on the medicine round again. After about five minutes he came to a blue door. Pushing it open Smeagol Gollum entered a place reminiscent of his old cave under the Misty Mountains. The difference was that this dark place was filled with array of contraptions and objects that not even the most sadistically creative Orc could have thought of. There was the old electro shock therapy machine, which Dr. Bywater was still hoping would make a come back once all this talk of namby pamby 'ethics' had stopped. There was a cabinet containing Dr. Banbury's experimental drugs from Chemipharm, which many of the staff had taken to dipping into when the pressures of working at Wildrose House got too much. There was also an ominous looking black trunk in which, unbeknownst to the rest of the staff, Dr. Hargreaves was keeping half of last years service development budget.

"Who's there? Is it the Goblins?" came a hissed whisper from somewhere on the far side of the cavern.

"Smeagol."

"Gollum."

"Oh that's alright then," said the voice relaxing somewhat. "What are you doing here anyway?" Bradley asked.

"Looking for fishess," hissed back Gollum as he sprang into the three feet of water that had collected at the bottom of the steps.

"Don't think I've seen any."

"None at all?"

"Don't think so. I did find this though." The man opened his palm to reveal a silver monopoly piece.

Gollum reached out to touch it. Bradley snapped his hand shut.

"Hey that's mine. Find your own."

"Ah it'ss your preciouss," said Gollum, grinning knowingly. Three days ago he would have killed, maimed, or take up traditional Hobbit folk dancing if it had meant that he could possess such a shiny item as the man now held in his hand. Now though the allure of cheap metallic tat, whist still strong, had been utterly subsumed by the desire to watch that nights episode of Wife Swap; and killing other patients for shiny objects would probably get him confined to his room until halfway through next week.

"Yeah," said Bradley, as a smile began to form on his normally terrified features. "Yeah, it's a precious all right. My precious."

"I don't want to miss my program," interrupted Smeagol.

"Letss go then preciouss," said Gollum. "We can't see any fishess swimming about down here."

"You going then?" said Bradley, who was looking lovingly at his discarded monopoly piece.

"Yess, we needs to watch our television don't we preciouss. Oh and look out for nassty Goblins and Hobbitses. They'll come and try to take your preciouss. But you knows what to do you sees them."

"What. You mean pull them under the water and eat them?"

"Thatss it."

Smeagol Gollum then scampered back in the direction of the stairs. Behind him Bradley Carver began to coo horribly over his 'precious'. He knew that when the time came he'd be ready to deal with all of the nasty creatures that would try to steal it.

----------

Smeagol reached the TV room just in time to catch the start of Hollyoaks. It promised to be good episode, with more death, family feuding, and comical misunderstandings than the chronicles of the house of Feanor. After letting Gollum intimidate the other patients into letting him have possession of the remote control he settled down to a cosy nights viewing.

----------

It was half past seven by the time Dr. Banbury and Dr. Craig made it down to the cellar with a cabinet full of confidential medical records.

"You first," said Dr. Banbury as they approached the steps.

"Why me?" said Dr. Craig.

"Because I'm holding the bloody records. Anyway which one of us is the senior doctor around here."

"B... but it's dark down there."

"Oh for gods sake man you're not telling me you're afraid of the dark are you?"

"My brother once locked me in the cellar for two days when I was ten."

"Well it's about time you snapped out of it then isn't it." sniffed Dr. Banbury displaying the same level sensitivity, compassion and empathic awareness for which she was famed amongst the hospitals in-patients.

Dr. Craig tentatively opened the cellar door. He heard the sound of someone muttering in the gloom.

_"Goblins coming to take my precious away.__ I won't let them get it though. It's mine."_

"Err. I think I've found Carver... Aaahhhh." The Doctor suddenly felt something pulling at his leg, and he found himself being dragged into the water.

"Oh what is it now," said Dr. Banbury. "Can't you go for one minute without having some kind of hysterical... Eeeeek."

There was a loud splash as Dr. Banbury and seventy medical records hit the water.

----------

The first Smeagol Gollum heard about the incident was on the eleven o clock news. All of the hospital's patients were supposed to have been returned to their respective rooms by this time, but Smeagol had decided to sneak back to the hallowed goggle box as soon as the nurses had given him his nightly medication. Well it was either his medication or Mrs. Young's. It was always so difficult to tell when the tablets were both the same shade of blue.

His ears pricked up when he heard the presenter mention the words Wildrose House.

_"... news just come in that earlier this evening that one of the patients Dampshires largest secure mental hospital attempted to drown and eat the two doctors. The centre has recently been the focus of a series of investigations being carried out by, amongst others, The General Medical Council, The Royal Dampshire Constabulary, The Inland Revenue, and for some reason The Advertising Standards Agency. The hospital management team have so far declined to comment on this latest incident."_

Smeagol and Gollum were both delighted. They had watched enough television over the past few days to understand that interesting news stories like this one were bound to be followed up by in depth documentaries that would be used to filled the empty slots between soap operas. When the television cameras came to Wildrose House they were determined to have their five minutes in front of the camera.

A/N - Well I only managed to fit the Gollum storyline into this chapter. Hopefully the next installment, when I finally manage to write it, will have some of the other character meeting up with each other due to the flimsiest of deux ex machina and the silliest of pseudo scientific explanations.

Response to Reviews:

Aisling Niamh - Glad you're still enjoying the story. Hopefully the hapless film extras will feature in the next instalment (I'm looking forward to writing that scene). I think lots of people can identify with the hormone/alcohol driven crazed fans even those who wouldn't usually admit it attempts to look nonchalant and fails miserably.

Pippin-Kun - Thanks. The characters can understand spoken English but not written English. The very silly reason I've given for this is that when they were zapped into the plot hole of despair they passed through the Lexical Distortion Field (LDF) which alters the language parts of the brain to fit whichever world they're being dropped into. Unfortunately this means that unless they pass back through the LDF on their way back to Middle-Earth they won't be able to speak Westron or Quenya.

Eykar - Thank-you, hope you enjoyed this chapter. My inability to master the art of using of apostrophes strikes again, I now have post-stick on top of the monitor to remind me of the difference between plural and possessive so hopefully they'll be fewer mistakes in this chapter (although I do sometimes type before I think). I think that Frodo and Sam's inability to cope with earth food will last until their bodies adjust to all of the chemicals (well either that or until they manage to find the nearest organic food market). Thanks for reminding me about wounds such as Frodo's needing to be elevated, I should really have remembered that (lets hope that I'm never called on to deliver first aid to any injured Hobbits in the near future). As for what going to happen with Frodo, Sam and the bottle of cider, well I don't want to give away too much but it will be a scene that underaged drinkers everywhere will probably recognise.

Rabid Locust - Thanks, I'm completely recovered now. I suppose that most of us torture the characters every now and then. I still feel a bit mean when I do it though, especially to poor traumatised Frodo.


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